


Good Vibrations

by localgoth



Category: We Happy Few (Video Game)
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, Light BDSM, Orgasm Denial, Other, Punishment, Reader-Insert, Riding Crops, reader can be any gender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:15:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23401342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localgoth/pseuds/localgoth
Summary: You forget to take your joy. Miss Byng makes sure you never forget again.
Relationships: Reader/Victoria Byng
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	Good Vibrations

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first stab at a x reader fic, so be gentle on me

You’ve always been the forgetful type, even before the joy. Now you depend on the messages you leave yourself to remember your daily routine - if you remember to write them. But you never thought you’d forget this, of all things. Taking your joy had become like second nature, but as you head into work, you realize something is wrong.

When did all the headlines get so sad? You flip through each newspaper on the redactor machine. Nothing bad ever happened in Wellington Wells, so all of these must be lies. You black out every one. Miserable. Tearful. Melancholic. You’re too busy redacting each and every one, you don’t notice the tears rolling down your cheeks until the door opens. 

“What are you doing?” It’s Miss Byng, your boss. You’ve always thought she had the prettiest perfect smile, but even her mask can’t force her to do so now. You touch your cheek, now aware of the crying.

“I-It won’t happen again, Miss Byng,” You stutter to say. 

“Are you off your joy?” She accuses. She takes a hostile step towards you. You become aware of the riding crop in her hands. She pauses, reaches for a pill bottle in her jacket pocket, and pours two red pills into the palm of her hand. 

“I’m sorry. I must have forgotten.” Stupid you, you think to yourself. Such a scatterbrain.

You eye the pills Miss Byng holds towards you. You feel unworthy of this kindness. She takes this hesitance as defiance.

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone Downer.” She clicks her tongue, chastising. You shake your head with conviction. You’re not a Downer, you don’t think, but it’s hard to remember. You just forgot your joy this one time. 

“No!” You insist. “I was just thinking…” Your eyes spot the riding crop, nestled at Miss Byng’s hip. “I deserve to be punished. Maybe then I won’t forget next time,” You suggest. Miss Byng’s smile fills the smile on her mask. 

“A capital idea!” Both pills end up in her mouth. Your heart sinks, being delayed the sweet release of joy for a moment longer. The room around you looks dim and washed of any color. You never noticed it before. The disorder and the dirt. It makes you want to look away. It makes you want to pop a joy and forget where you were. 

The riding crop cracks against the surface of your desk, causing a jolt to rush through your body. She always had that crop with her. She probably rode horses when she wasn’t at the office. She was well off, the daughter of General Byng and an Indian royal. She always seemed like she was made of something different than anyone else, that she was the model to be followed.

You don’t wait for her command. You lean over the desk, letting the edge dig uncomfortably into your gut. 

“Trousers down,” Miss Byng says. You pretend like she is Simon and you are at Church and pull them down, underwear included. The office air is cold on your bare backside, and bumps rise on your skin at the anticipation of the crop. 

“You must take your joy!” Miss Byng stats, as the crop comes down on sensitive skin. You hiss a breath in, but it is drowned out by the crack of the crop. The point of contact stings in the brief time it takes for Miss Byng to wind back and strike again. It hurts as much as the first, but this time you manage to remain quiet. 

Miss Byng repeats the mantra with every strike: “You must take your joy.” With no joy, there is nothing to dull the pain on your arse. You don’t dare ask her to stop. You don’t want her to stop. The pain, it makes you forget the headlines you had read. About the war that was lost. About the children that were ushered away. This was better than joy. You groan in time with the crop coming in contact. It is half out of pain and half out of pleasure. Your genitals are exposed and no doubt she sees the arousal, but it’s either out of professionalism or rejection that she makes no comment. 

Your arse is raw by the time she stops. “That should make the message sink in,” Miss Byng comments. You remain pressed to the desk, waiting for her command to get up, but it doesn’t come. Instead, she heavily places her bottle of pills on the desk, just before your eyes. You reach for them and sift one out into your palm. You don’t want to forget what had happened. You almost want to toss the pill aside, hoping for more punishment, but you have a feeling in doing so, she would only call security, convinced you were a downer. You take the pill. 

Instantaneously, the world glows around you. The welts on your bum ache, but aren’t they a wonderful feeling? You work your trousers back up your hips and claspe them once more. Returning to your seat before the redactor machine makes the moment before feel like nothing more than a lusty dream. 

Miss Byng collects her bottle once more. She gives you a small, knowing smile before she s mooths back loose strands of dark hair, returning them to their former perfection. That’s what Miss Byng was - perfection. You return a grin that mimics the one on your mask and without another word, Miss Byng leaves the room. 

***

Another day, another thing forgotten, but you can’t figure out what. You peruse over the notes you had taped to your desk. Eat Lunch. Return Reports to Miss Byng. Pick Up Check. None of them seem right. You relax back into your chair. The pressure against your bum upsets the welts there and they flare in pain. “Oh!” You announce to an empty office. You open the drawer in your desk. A bottle rolls with the force, but you are able to catch it. “You must take your joy!” You remember. 


End file.
